


Group meditation for the purposes of a Good Work Environment (down boy)

by Hawke



Series: An investigation into the mind of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ASD Jon, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Altered Mental States, Autistic Jon, Do Not Archive, Eyes, F/M, Hypnosis, I promise, M/M, Martin Cant Make Eye Contact With Jon Without Going Red, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Misc spoilers up to season 4, Multi, No beta we die like archival assistants, Not a sequal can be read alone, Tim is awesome, and i love him, autistic author too, because i cant remember when things happened, because i marathoned tma in a week and a half, general archival nonsense, jesus christ do not archive, non-specific season 2/3 timeline, tim's pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawke/pseuds/Hawke
Summary: Tim is frustrated by the crap he has to deal with at the institute, and finds relief in a meditation class.And then he decides 'hey, might as well try this out on the archive staff, we could use a break'.When he realises that Jon is a natural as guided relaxation, well. The archival assistants might finally get Jon to open up.
Series: An investigation into the mind of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765849
Comments: 53
Kudos: 181





	1. Reason #73 that I'm going to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> (not a sequel, can be read alone)  
> Canon things i am ignoring:  
> Sasha is Sasha.  
> Therefore, Jon doesnt do his paranoid 'im gonna watch Tim's house because im crazy' thing.  
> Which means the archive staff are a bit closer than they otherwise would be, although everyone is still a bit 'Jon, you're weird okay'. 
> 
> (minor CW at end of fic regarding that rape/non-con tag)

Tim was, in two words, _not happy_ with his current situation. 

Yeah, he had always enjoyed his work at the Magnus Institute, first in research and then as an archival assistant. But the whole Prentiss incident (and those scars were always a fun conversation with his grindr hook-ups) and Jon being an absolute ass to work for (although he had gotten better lately) made things that bit less fun. 

He barely even bothered to engage in his work, scrolling through his phone most days and half-heartedly doing some lazily google-based follow-up to some of the statements. It was hard, he couldn't exactly talk to anyone about what was happening in his life, "Hey doctor, I’m a bit depressed and angry because my work environment is murderous, no I can’t leave because I accidently sold my soul to an eldritch horror" would be a great way to get him sectioned. 

Although Tim was sure that Elias would somehow get him out of that, if only to prevent his precious archivist from losing any assistants.

It was while pretending to follow up on a woman who had problems with intermittently disappearing into a foggy nightmare-world that Tim found a website on mindfulness meditation. It was a class the woman had regularly attended prior to her 'encounter' and, while there was no way Tim was going to attend that _particular_ location, there was nothing wrong with going to a different one. The website boasted the benefits of meditating: a sense of calm and peace, a re-evaluation of life’s' priorities, a way to connect the inner mind with the outer mind. Bullshit like that. 

Tim shrugged, the worst that could happen is that it was all crap and a waste of his time (well, the worst that could happen is that he was devoured by clowns, but that thought went straight back into the 'no thank you' box).

And he could pretty easily swing it as 'psychological help' and make Elias pay for it too. Tim had no idea what union had given the institute staff such good medical benefits, but he wasn't going to question it. 

In the end, the classes were pretty good. He didn’t get any sudden inspiration, he didn't feel magically better about himself and his situation, but Tim did feel a lot more relaxed and calm. He just felt more ... In tune with himself. Which, while it was some serious bullshit, was at least an improvement. 

The classes had recommended meditating every morning and night, and while he sometimes forgot or couldn’t be assed, he found his days went easier when he did it. 

"You're looking better Tim." Sasha said one morning a few months after he'd started the classes.

Tim leaned onto the back legs of his chair and tilted his head backwards to look at Sasha upside down. 

"Better?"

"Yeah. You been doing something different?"

Tim scoffed, "Well, there’s no worms trying to kill us or anything, so that’s helped."

"Yeah."

There was silence for a while before Tim spoke again. 

"I've been going to meditation classes actually. They really help."

Sasha raised her eyebrows disbelievingly, "Just sitting in a room being quiet?"

Tim tilted his chair back to the ground with a clatter that was sure to annoy Jon (ha ha, sucks to be him), and turned to face Sasha fully. 

"It's more than that. It’s about centring yourself. And it’s not like I can talk to a psych about all this." he gestured vaguely at the institute around them. 

"You should run a 'meditation session' for us then, if they're so good," Sasha said in a teasing tone, complete with air-quotes. 

Martin chose that moment to walk in and deposit mugs of tea on everyone's desks. 

"Tim's gonna run a meditation session?" 

Tim rolled his eyes, "I mean, I’ve only be going for a month or two."

Martin's face fell, "I just think it might be a good idea. Help everyone relax and all that."

Tim thought for a moment. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, the three of them having a bit of mindfulness. Might make everything a bit less stressful around the archive. Although, Jon was the one who really needed to chill out. 

Actually. 

"Alright Martin, I'll do it if you can convince Jon to join us."

Martin squeaked, "Me? Convince him?"

"Well me and Sasha aren’t going to convince him!"

Martin sighed, "Fine. Deal."

  
\------

  
Tim had no idea how Martin had successfully conned Jon into this, but here they were on a Friday morning, clearing a space in the archive storage room so they could all sit down comfortably. 

Even with Martin's assurance, Tim wasn't entirely sure Jon would actually come until he slid into the room three minutes past one. 

"Sorry, got caught up with a statement."

He looked at the three of them sitting on the ground awkwardly, before hanging his jacket on a chair and joining them. 

Tim took a deep breath. Was this a good idea? Like a kayak heading towards the rapids, it was too late to back out now.

"Alright. We're going to do some meditating." He glanced at the faces of everyone. They were seated loosely in a square, Jon sitting across from Sasha, and Jon across from Martin. 

Martin was, of course, nervously excited and trying not to make eye contact with Jon. Sasha was looking attentively at Tim, and Jon looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else. 

"So, first, you need to pick something to focus on. A spot on the wall or one of the boxes or something. Just pick it, and focus your eyes on it, and don’t look away."

Everyone dutifully shifted their gaze to something within the room, and Tim continued.

"Think about your breathing. In, and out. In - one - two - three - four. Hold it - one - two - three - four. Out - one - two - three - four."

He continued pacing their breathing and was glad he'd spoken to the meditation teacher last night about tips and tricks. There were a lot of things that he hadn’t realised went into guided mediation - like watching the physical reactions of the participants and gauging when to move on. Tim had just assumed they went from a memorised script. 

It made sense though, no point moving on until everyone was ready. 

He was glad for years of paying close attention to his partners, it helped him see the relaxation in the others. He continued to guide their breathing and watched as some of the tension drained away. 

"I want you to focus on your feet for a minute. Feel each individual toe, each muscle in your foot and around your ankle. And feel them relax. Feel your feet become loose and limp, relaxed and calm.

Next, feel this relaxation travel up your legs. Feel your calves loosen, feel your knees become limp, feel your thighs relax, feel your glutes calm.

Then the sensation spreads into your torso. Your stomach, your chest. Everything settling until the only movement is the steady breath in - one - two - three - four, hold - one - two - three - four, and out - one - two - three - four.

Focus on your arms now. Your shoulders loosening and falling forward a bit, although you have just enough strength to stay sitting up. Your arms resting limply in your lap. Your hands relaxing. 

Finally, your head follows this relaxation. With your whole body relaxed and quiet, your mind begins to drift into a peaceful and happy state. You are aware, but everything is relaxed. Keep focussing on that spot that you chose earlier and feel yourself drift."

Tim sat back and watched the others. This had turned out better than he thought. Martin had a slight look of concentration on his face but seemed to be doing well. Sasha was staring off to a point behind Tim's shoulder and looked perfectly serene. And as Tim turned to Jon - 

A sudden ringing snapped everyone out of their peace, and Tim cursed. How the hell had he gotten reception down here? He quickly rejected the call, but the mood was broken, and everyone began to come back to themselves. 

"Sorry, forgot to put my phone on silent." 

Martin smiled at him, "it's fine. This was still really nice."

Sasha agreed, "Yeah, it was good. I feel great."

Tim turned to Jon to see what he thought, probably some anger at 'lost working time' or something. 

And Tim paused. 

Jon was still staring at a point on the wall, his eyes unfocussed and blank, his breathing steady and even, his hands lax on his lap. 

The others noticed too, and they sat awkwardly for a moment before Tim spoke up. 

"Boss?"

Jon blinked, a slow and languid motion, but otherwise didn't seem to register Tim's words. 

If it weren't for his eyes being open, Tim would have said he was sleeping. Maybe he was? Maybe he was doing some freaky archivist eyes-open-sleep thing? 

"Do you think we should wake him up?" Sasha asked, evidently coming to the same conclusion Tim had. 

Tim opened his mouth, and then closed it. Part of him wanted to just shake Jon awake and move on. 

But another part of him... Jon looked so much younger like this, his premature grey hairs aside. His face was so peaceful and open, the only things marring it (except for the worm scars) were the almost-permanent dark circles under his eyes, somewhat obscured by his glasses. 

Tim sighed, "If he's sleeping, he's not telling us off."

Martin shook his head, "We can’t just leave him sitting here. It can’t be comfortable."

"Well let’s move him to the cot then," Sasha suggested. 

There was a brief discussion about how to move him across the room to the bed before Tim had an idea. His meditating instructor had said to be careful using relaxation techniques at work, cautioning that it was easy to nudge people when they were 'under'. 

Maybe he could ...?

"Jon." He said softly. 

At his name, Jon's gaze shifted towards Tim, still empty and vacant, but his attention seemingly focused on him. 

"You still have a feeling of relaxation, of distance and peace. But you feel energy returning to your body, to your legs. You are going to stand up and walk over to the cot."

It took a few moments for anything to happen. The three of them watched Jon, seeing what he would do. Would he suddenly come to and yell at them? Would he berate them for wasting his time and trying to ...? What, control him?

None of that happened. Instead, Jon slowly stumbled to his feet, moving as if he was unfamiliar with how many limbs he owned, and he shuffled towards the cot. 

Tim followed, ready to catch his boss if he fell, but it wasn't needed. Despite his swaying, he kept his feet fine. 

Jon stopped at the cot, staring blankly at it. 

Tim realised after a moment that he was waiting for instructions. 

(Tim quashed the sense of _something_ that ran through him at the thought of Jon following his instructions to the letter. Down boy)

"Jon, I want you to lie down on the cot and relax again."

Jon nodded vaguely and got onto the cot. He laid back and stared towards the ceiling while the three assistants looked on. 

Tim let out a breath. Shit. What now. 

Martin stepped forward and plucked Jon's glasses from his face, carefully extracting the glasses chain as to not choke him in his sleep.

Tim thought for a moment, ideas running through his head and then quickly being discarded. Finally, he knelt down next to the cot and spoke. 

"Jon, feel your body relax. With every breath in, you feel more light and peaceful. With every breath out, you feel more relaxed and sleepy. Feel those sensations begin to fill you. Feel your body begin to slow down into a gentle sleep. Your limbs are far away, the world is distant. Everything can wait. You can see sleep approaching, a sleep full of - " Tim cut himself off, pausing for a moment as he struggled for words, "you search for the happiest memory you have, and you see that memory approaching you. That is what your dreams will be filled with, the happiest memory you have, and a peaceful sleep. Feel your eyes slide closed, and rest."

The three of them watched as Jon's eyes slid shut, a slight smile on his otherwise relaxed face. After a moment, they each stood and walked away, heading for the breakroom. 

Martin ended up putting on some tea (of course he did) and they stood around awkwardly, not talking. 

Eventually, Sasha broke the silence. 

"That was weird, right?"

"Oh definitely"

"Yes, it was."

Sasha nodded, "Cool, just making sure."

They continued to stand there for a while, sipping on their tea, before heading back to their desks. 

After a few hours, Jon appeared from the storage room, hair mussed and shirt rumpled, but his seemed brighter than Tim had seen since... Well, since he'd gotten the job as head archivist. 

Jon's face flushed red as he realised everyone was staring at him. 

"Ah, uhm, thanks Tim for, ah, that relaxing meditation."

"No problems boss. Have a good rest?"

"Yes, quite," Jon nodded, "Dreamt about being back in uni, hanging out with Georgie." Jon's eyes went distant for a moment, "One of the best times of my life actually." 

He snapped back into focus quickly and looked them all over. "Truly, thanks for that Tim. You should all take the rest of the day off. Have a head-start on your weekend." 

They didn't need to be told twice, and all shuffled out of the archives. Tim couldn't help taking one last look at Jon as he left.

He really did look more relaxed. Maybe they should do this meditation thing again. 

(And if Jon was zoned out enough to be controlled again? Well.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I want to write a few more hundred words about Weird Jon Mind Things.  
> Also me: write 2500 words of niche weird hypnosis-adjacent stuff?  
> Me: well, ah... I guess?
> 
> Content warning for the entire fic: (also spoilers for the fic)  
> We are delving into the realm of basically 'non-consentual hypnosis'. While my whole mindset of hypnosis is that you can't do something that you dont want to, theres definitly some dubious consent things that are going to happen (within this fic, no sexual content though). I just wanted to err on the side of caution in this regard. Jon isnt going to do anything that he isnt comfortable with, but Tim (and the others) are going to 100% push him towards that comfort edge.


	2. What are friends for?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is ready to use his new-found powers for good, and absolutely nothing else.

When Tim poked his head into Jon's office a week later, he was careful to school his expression into something casual.  
  
"Oh, hey boss. We were gonna do another meditation session, if you wanted to join."  
  
Jon looked up from where he had been scrawling comments into a supplementary for a statement and considered for a moment. 

"Sure, I'll be five minutes?"  
  
Tim grinned, "See ya there boss!"  
  
He practically skipped into the storage room where Martin and Sasha were already seated and flopped down to the ground.  
  
Sasha rolled her eyes, "I guess he said yes then?"  
  
"Yup!" He said, popping the 'p' as he replied.  
  
"This is going to end terribly, Tim."  
  
"Nah, it'll be fine."  
  
Tim had made sure to seat himself between Sasha and Martin, and poking Sasha so that the only space for Jon was across from Tim.  
  
A few minutes later, Jon stepped into the room and sat down with them, having apparently left his jacket and glasses at his desk this time.  
  
"Ready?" Tim asked, seemingly to the room, but his eyes were focussed on Jon.  
  
They all muttered various levels of agreement, and Tim took a deep breath, centring himself before he started.  
  
"Sasha and Martin, I want you to look into each other’s eyes - " 

Sasha spluttered at that, and Tim continued speaking before she could interrupt.  
  
"I am leading this meditation exercise. You two look into each other’s eyes, and Jon, you look at mine.  
  
Focus on the other person's eyes. Look at their colour, the hue. The striations in that colour. How many colours actually make up an iris? Are there flecks of darker or lighter colour in there?"  
  
Tim tried to ignore the increased sensation of being watched as he spoke. He had sort of brought this upon himself, but it was an effective technique that he had researched over the weekend to induce altered mental states. One study had just put two people in a room and told them to make eye contact until the researchers told them to stop. Not even ten minutes in and they had started hallucinating.  
  
He figured it would be an induction that would appeal to the avatar of creepily watching people, and sure enough it seemed to be working.  
  
Jon's eyes were already struggling to focus on his. They kept sliding into the distance and then snapping back to meet Tim's.  
  
"The patterns in the eyes, they almost seem to swirl around the darkness of the pupil. Twisting in and in and in, seeming to draw your eyes towards them."  
  
Tim was gratified to see that Jon was leaning slightly forward towards him as his eyes rolled in small circles, following the spiral that only he could see.  
  
"Your eyes are drawn into towards the pupil, the darkness, the emptiness. But as you are drawn in, you see it isn't as empty as you first thought, it leads to a staircase.  
  
At the bottom of the stairs, you know there will be comfort, relaxation, a place you can let the weight fall off your shoulders. Is that something you want?"  
  
"Mmm, yeah," Jon slurred out, his tongue not quite working in his mouth.  
  
Tim realised that only one voice had answered and felt a stab of guilt as he widened his focus and saw Sasha and Martin out of the corners of his eye. He didn't dare break eye contact with Jon, but he saw that Martin was sipping a cup of tea and staring intently at Jon, face flushed red, while Sasha was looking at her phone.  
  
He quashed the guilt. He could make it up to Sasha later, and he got the sense that Martin was plenty happy with the situation he was in.  
  
"You begin to walk down those stairs, every step seeming to resonate in your body. Every step relaxes you more, drains more tension from you, makes you feel more peaceful."  
  
Tim continued to lead Jon down the stairs, counting him down from twenty and doubling down on the feelings of relaxation and peace. By this point, Jon's gaze was unfocussed and empty, his face slack and his body slumped in a way that would definitely hurt if he didn’t do something about it soon. Just a little longer.  
  
"As you reach the bottom of the steps, you see a dimly lit room. At first, you think the room is empty. The walls are bare, but there is a chair in the middle. Soft, inviting, cosy. You walk up to it and think it would make a good resting place. Somewhere nice to relax your mind. Look at that chair and see how comfortable it will be when you get to sit on it."  
  
Tim was pretty sure Jon was in deep enough that his eye fixation would maintain if he moved, but he still stood up slowly, ready to move back into sight and reinforce the words of relaxation.  
  
He needn’t have worried. Jon was completely out of it. Tim looked around the room, trying to figure out what to prop Jon up on. The way he was slumped forward was going to drag him out of his trance with just how uncomfortable it must be.  
  
"What are you looking for Tim?" Sasha asked without looking up.  
  
Tim sighed, "He's gonna hurt his back sitting like that. He needs to relax on something, but there’s no chairs down - Ah."  
  
Tim's eyes landed on Martin, and he smiled.

"Martin! You're soft and warm! Give Jon a hand before he hurts his back."  
  
"Uh - I - but - what?"  
  
"Let him lean on you so he doesn’t hurt his back Martin. You wouldn’t want our wonderful archivist to be in pain, right?"  
  
Tim grinned mischievously, and Martin scowled but acquiesced.  
  
"Jon, feel yourself sink into that chair. You can allow your body and mind to truly become limp and open. The chair is warm and welcoming and soft and perfect."  
  
Martin flushed an even deeper red - if that was even possible - when Jon slumped onto his shoulder.  
  
They sat like that for a moment before Sasha spoke up.  
  
"So, whatcha going to do with him?"  
  
Tim smiled innocently, "What do you mean?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, "Can’t trick me Stoker. You want something out of him."  
  
"Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair that he can just, pull information from us whenever he wants? Ask us anything and we _have_ to answer?"  
  
"Jon doesn’t do that to us though Tim." Martin said (of course Martin said. He was in love with the eldritch abomination)  
  
"He doesn’t, but he could. I'm just saying, we level the playing field."  
  
Sasha frowned, "Isn’t that a bit... Morally dubious?"  
  
Tim sighed, "Fine, I guess we’ll just wake him up without asking anything. I'm sure there’s nothing you wanted to ask him," he made disbelieving eye contact with Sasha and then Martin, "Nothing at all?"  
  
Sasha scowled, "You know that I want to know how he got the damn promotion over me, Tim."  
  
"I can ask him."  
  
She sighed, flicking her phone from hand to hand as she thought.  
  
"Fine. Ask him."  
  
Tim grinned and shifted so his was facing Jon. Deep breath, focus.  
  
"Jon, can you hear me?"  
  
Jon didn't reply for a moment, as his mouth twisted and contorted as if he was remembering how it worked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm going to ask some questions of you Jon. You will feel perfectly happy and calm and peaceful when you answer these questions. Do you understand."  
  
Again, Jon said yes.  
  
"Do you think Sasha would have made a good head archivist?"  
  
Sasha poked him in the ribs and opened her mouth to make a comment, but Jon was already replying.  
  
"Yes. She has a good head for organisation and management, she knows about both the goings on of the supernatural world, and the goings on of the institute. She is curious and driven but doesn't let herself be swept away into danger. She would have done well and should have gotten the role instead of me."  
  
The flat and bland tone that Jon spoke with was completely overshadowed by the content of what he had said.  
  
"I didn’t know he thought so highly of me."  
  
"I didn’t think he thought that highly of anyone" Tim muttered.  
  
"Ask him if he knows why I didn’t get the position."  
  
Tim nodded. "Why didn’t Sasha get the promotion?"  
  
A crease formed on Jon's face, and he opened his mouth for a moment before closing it.  
  
And then -  
  
And then the eyes opened.  
  
From the centre of his forehead, the skin peeled upward to reveal a glowing green eye. Another one opened on his cheek, and two more on the side of his neck. With long sleeves and slacks, it was impossible to see if there was any more of them.  
  
The three of them stared, but didn’t have a chance to do anything before Jon spoke in that same empty and flat tone.  
  
**"Who do you think Peter? Sasha is clever and driven.  
  
I wouldn’t. She is too close to Gertrude, and too similar. She will become another loose cannon.  
  
Hmm. Martin would be easy to control, but utterly useless.  
  
I think you would do well with Jon. He's lonely, but doesn’t dwell on it -  
  
Stop trying to make a lonely-eyes avatar Peter!  
  
Fine fine. I think he would do well though. He doesn’t have any connections; he tries to be professional above all else. And he’s cute too.  
  
Peter, if you keep looking at cute young men then I will have to file for another divorce."**  
  
Even without the tone variance, the accent Jon spoke with and the content of the words made it easy to identify the speakers. Elias and Peter Lukas, debating who would become the new archivist.  
  
And Jon had seemingly plucked that conversation out of thin air.  
  
The eyes each closed one by one, until the only marks on Jon's face were the worm scars.  
  


There was silence for what felt like hours, but could only have been a few minutes.  
  
Sasha eventually spoke up, "I guess I should be thankful I didn't end up getting the position," she laughed nervously and gestured at Jon, "Given the, you know."  
  
Tim nodded, "Yeah."  
  
It was another few minutes of quiet, the only sounds being the shifting of Martin as he kept Jon upright on the cold cement floor, before Tim spoke again.  
  
"Well Martin. What do you want to ask Jon?"  
  
"W-what? No. No I’m fine."  
  
"Really?"  
  
Martin shook his head, "I think it’s a bad idea. What if _that_ happens again?"  
  
"Just ask him something he should know. It only went weird when we asked something he didn’t know; it was fine when we asked what Jon thought of her. Oh! A perfect question."  
  
Tim grinned and focussed back on Jon.  
  
"Jon, what do you think about Martin?"  
  
Jon blinked languidly for a moment before speaking, "Martin is distracting, it's hard to concentrate when he is around," his blank tone began to take on more emotion bent as he spoke, "He is considerate and makes delicious tea, but he is not good at his actual job. I keep trying to teach him how to do better, but he always seems to take it so harshly!" By the time Jon finished speaking, his face was contorted into frustration and annoyance.  
  
Tim knew that he should take the time to calm Jon down before continuing to press, but he was too caught up in Jon's emotional defence of Martin (and Martin himself had enough blood flushing his face that it was a wonder he didn’t keel over)  
  
"Why do you want him to do better?"  
  
Jon's tone shifted instantly into something softer, "Because I want him to do well in life, and he needs to learn to be better for that to happen. I'm trying to help him as best I can. And if he doesn't get better at his job, I am worried Elias will send him away and I won’t get to see him anymore."  
  
Tim sat back on his heels, and Martin stifled a gasp with his hand.  
  
"At least he didn’t go all weird." Sasha said eventually.  
  
"True."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, Tim, you going to ask him what he thinks of you then?"  
  
"Yeah, it’s not fair that Sasha's gotta hear Elias bitch about her, and I’ve got to hear him tell me how stupid I am. You need to ask what he thinks of you."  
  
Tim sighed. Martin was right, it wasn’t fair. Although Jon hadn’t exactly said Martin was stupid. Anyway, he really did want to know what Jon thought about him.  
  
He steeled himself, trying to prepare for whatever weirdness Jon would throw at him.  
  
"Jon. What do you think about me?"  
  
Jon's tone returned to a flatness as he spoke, and Tim felt a twinge of annoyance that Martin was the only one he got worked up enough about to push through the hypnotic relaxation.  
  
"Tim is smart and good at what he does. He may not have the best organisational or investigative skills, but his ability to make anyone like him is a boon. I don't know why he keeps trying to be friendly to me, I don't have anything he wants, and I'm not going to go easier on him if he sucks up to me."  
  
Tim began to laugh, and once he started, he couldn't stop.  
  
"Does he just have no concept of how friendship works? A bit harsh that he thinks I'm 'sucking up to him to get special treatment'! Serves me right for being nice to the prick."  
  
Tim wiped at his eyes, still not quite sure if Jon's comments were hilarious or depressing.  
  
"Jon, do you not know how friendships work?"  
  
He hadn't realised he'd directed a question at Jon (and the consequences therein) until Jon began to speak.  
  
"I enjoyed reading books as a child - I still do - and I very rarely took the time to interact with the other students at school. They thought I was weird, I overheard one child telling his friend about 'weird Jon who had talked his ear off about different pen types or some weird shit', and I realised that people didn’t like me. It didn’t bother me too much, except for the few times my Gran would ask if I wanted to invite anyone over for my birthday, and even then, it wasn't something I really knew what I was missing.  
  
I learned a lot from Georgie. She made sure I interacted with people and tried to soften my abrasive attitude. But it was only really while we were roommates. After uni, I was back to being alone.  
  
I don’t know how friendships work, not really, and I don't think I ever will. But watching Tim and Sasha and Martin together, has given me a bit of an insight. Although, I don't know if I like it. I'm happy with what I've got, and I'm worried that if I learn what I'm missing, I might begin to crave something unattainable."  
  
By the time he finished talking, tears were streaming down Jon's blank and empty face, and Tim felt like the biggest asshole ever.  
  
And also a lot of weird things Jon did were slotting together. 'Autism' popped into his head - the general lack of social skills, the way he could talk about very specific topics, the exact order that his desk was always in and the frustration whenever anything was moved. Tim shook his head, not the time, and filed the thought away into the 'later' box.  
  
"Well, I think that’s enough emotional trauma for today." Tim said brightly, trying to inject a bit of his usual enthusiasm into the situation, even if it rang hollow.  
  
"Martin, help me get him to the cot."  
  
Martin nodded, and they gently laid Jon down in the makeshift bed.  
  
"Jon, feel yourself relax. Feel your body and mind descend down into the most calm and peaceful place. You can feel the beginnings of sleep approach you, a wave from an endless sea of calm that is starting to take you. The world of dreams is waiting, and the dream you will have is of the archive's staff, and how we all think of you as our friend."  
  
Jon settled into sleep, and the three of them headed up into the archive breakroom.  
  
They didn't speak until they were each clutching at a mug of tea with varying degrees of 'oh shit'.  
  
"So, are we going to talk about that?" Sasha asked eventually.  
  
Tim barked out a weak laugh, "And say what? Our boss thinks we're vaguely good at our job but martin's terrible, and he seems to think I'm trying to suck up to him and that Martin is going to keel over if he doesn't get yelled at every day!"  
  
"I didn't realise how lonely he was." Martin said, staring into his tea.  
  
"Me neither." Sasha agreed, "But is there anything we can do?"  
  
No one had a response to that.  


  
Either Jon didn’t notice the subdued tension of the archives when he came upstairs a few hours later, or he didn't care to comment. He thanked Tim again, and headed into his office.  
  
It was an awkward final few hours of the work week, there was no doubt about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love feedback on formatting for the extended talk-y parts. I wanted to paragraph them so they didnt end up at massive blocks of text, but i didnt want to open and close quotes on each line and confuse people as to whether a new person was talking. This was my compromise, but i would love feedback! :)
> 
> Also, this was... not where i originally envisioned the fic going. But then i sat down to write and it sort of ... happened.


	3. Operation Socialise Jonathan Sims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim, Sasha and Martin commence operation 'socialise Jonathan Sims'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didnt say this in the previous info, putting it here (also in the tags now). I am autistic, and several of the things Jon is going through (and things the trio are doing to try and help) are things that have been suggested or done with me. Everyone's experience of autism is different, and this is somewhat based on mine. Also, autism is no excuse to be a dick, but you cant expect autistic people to be magically normal.
> 
> Just to be 100% Tim and gang arent going to 'fix' Jon, but they are going to help him. (dont get me started on the 'we don't need to be fixed' train, i will rant forever about that)
> 
> My ted talk regarding Jon being autistic just goes (hover for 167 spoilers)

The archival assistants had a system of 'hang time' that had developed over their few years, mostly as a way to decompress somewhere that didn't feel like they were being watched constantly. 

Monday mornings, the three of the would meet up from breakfast and prepare themselves for the week. Thursdays they would head out for lunch, a pit stop on the way to almost making it to the weekend, and Friday night was celebratory drinks. 

The evening of Tim's second meditation session was anything but celebratory. 

They crowded into their regular booth at the back of Chelsea Bar, a short walk from the institute, and an even shorter stumble to the tube station. 

It was several rounds in before Tim spoke up. 

"We really should talk about what happened."

Sasha scoffed, "Oh, the whole 'Tim mind controlled our boss, made him spill some secrets, summoned the supernatural beast that possesses him, and then told him to have a nap' thing?"

Tim scowled back, "Ah no, I think our best bet with that side of things is to just stop doing it, no more meditation. I was more thinking the whole 'I don't know what friends are', with a side of 'the best way to make Martin competent is to be an ass'."

"I guess it's nice to know that he's mean to me because he wants to help, but it’s still not nice."

Tim nodded at Martin, "That's exactly the solution though. We show him what it means to have friends, and we teach him how to be a good friend."

"He's 29, he's a bit old for us to be playing 'this is how friends work'." Sasha commented. 

Tim drained the rest of his cocktail before he spoke again, in a much more subdued tone than usual, "My - my brother. Danny. He was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome as a child. We spent years teaching him how to socialise with people. Not to fix him or anything, just to help him. By the time we were adults, he was happy and confident with himself, and had a few good friends that he could connect to really well."

"You think Jon's autistic?" Martin asked.

"Martin, remember how he talked your ear off at your birthday ice cream for twenty minutes about emulsifiers? Think about his obsession with keeping everything in perfect order at the archives, and the way he hates to leave things half done? I'm no doctor, but it's all stuff they looked for in Danny. And even if he isn't, what's the harm in helping him?"

Sasha sighed, "So we, what, teach him how to make friends?"

Martin perked up a bit, "That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"Yeah Sasha, it'll be fun. Best case, our boss becomes less of a dick, worst case... Well, he can’t get that much more difficult."

"Untrue, he could end up like Elias."

They all shuddered at that. 

"Well Sasha, what do you say? Martin, I assume you're in on this."

Martin nodded, and Sasha contemplated the bottom of her beer glass. 

"Alright," She said eventually, before punching Tim in the shoulder, "You owe me one Stoker!"

Tim grinned and stood up, "Another round then?"

The rest of the night was a blur of alcohol and dancing. They didn't usually get this smashed, but it had been a weird day and they all needed it. Saturday would suck, but that was why they did this outing on a Friday, no work tomorrow. 

On Monday, they would plan. 

The plan, such as it was, wasn't too complicated. They would invite Jon to their various outings and socialise him (He's not a dog Sasha!) both inside and outside the archives. Martin would continue to bring him tea and be overly friendly, and they would try and get to know him as more than 'weirdly obsessive workaholic boss'. 

Tuesday and Wednesday were ... awkward to say the least. 

Tim, Sasha and Martin were all for trying to engage with Jon, but Jon seemed to just be very confused. When Martin asked Jon what his favourite tea was and Jon said he didn't care, kicking him out to read statements. Sasha had asked Jon what he got up to on the weekend, and he had said he'd been at home the whole time and closed the door to his office. Tim caught Jon in in the upstairs lobby on Wednesday evening and asked if he was going anywhere exciting. Jon had just given him a very confused look and said no.

Right. 

  
At lunch time on Thursday they all stood outside of Jon's office, whispering while they listened to the emotive tone of Jon reading a statement. 

"I'm not interrupting him!" Sasha hissed, "He yelled at me last time!"

Martin shook his head, "He things I'm an idiot, no way."

Tim sighed, "Fine, fine."

He took a breath and placed his hand on the door. Before he could open it, Jon's voice shifted back to its usual tone and cadence.

"Statement ends."

Tim sighed in relief as he opened the door, watching Jon as he verbalised the follow-up for the statement. 

" - on Ms Chase, except for a single overdue library book notice from 2004 that Sasha was able to track down - "

Jon glanced up at Tim, raising a questioning eyebrow, "Yes Tim?"

"Hey boss. Ah, we were all just heading out for lunch, just wondering if you wanted to catch a bite as well?"

Jon glances around at the pile of paperwork on the table around him, "I'm rather busy at the moment actually - "

Tim cut him off, "Come on Jon, that'll all still be there when you get back."

Jon sighed, "Fine, fine. Let me wrap this up then. I'll meet you upstairs."

Tim grinned, "Thanks boss!" and closed the door quietly behind him. 

"I guess that’s a win then?" Sasha queried. 

"Yup! He'll meet us upstairs."

Eventually Jon joined them, and they all headed out to the pizza joint down the street and crowded into one of the booths, Sasha with Tim on one side, and Martin (who went very red when he realised who would be squished up against him for the whole lunch) and Jon on the other. 

"So, Jon, read any cool statements lately?" Tim asked. 

Jon looked like a deer in the headlights and stammered for a moment before he caught his words, "Uh, well, no not really."

He looked quickly back down at his menu. 

The assistants traded looks and followed suit; the awkward silence only broken when they ordered. 

"So, Jon," Sasha asked after their menus had been taken, "What was it like to work with Tim in research?"

"Uh, it was, good to work with him." Jon paused for a moment, "I mean, still is good."

They waited for an elaboration, but none was forthcoming. 

Swimmingly. This was going swimmingly. 

"Well you know Sasha; it was definitely a lot of fun to work with Jon. He is a very diligent researcher, absolutely fantastic memory."

Jon mumbled a non-committal response to the compliment, and they sat in uncomfortable silence until their food arrived. 

They all quickly dove into their food, happy to have something else to do. 

It took a few minutes for Tim to realise that Jon was not digging into his food, just poking at it and taking small bites from the side. 

"Was your pizza wrong or something?"

Jon's head jerked up, and his face flashed with anger for a moment, "No! Ah, I mean, no. It's fine."

Tim looked on, thoroughly confused, as Jon hesitantly nibbled at a slice of pizza. 

After a moment, he spoke up, "Look, sorry I've still got a lot of work to do. I should get back to the archives."

Jon grabbed his jacket and left the other three to contemplate their half-eaten pizzas. 

"Well that was fantastic." Martin muttered. 

Sasha grunted an agreement, and Tim looked over at Jon's plate, and the neat and separate piles of olives, pineapple, and pepperoni next to the half-slices. 

"We'll try again tomorrow night at the bar," Tim said, forcing a level of confidence into his voice that he certainly did not feel. 

  
The next day, Tim was so focussed on figuring out how to get Jon to the bar tonight that he completely forgot about his cancelled meditation session. At lunchtime, Jon appeared at his desk expectantly. 

"Boss?"

"Well, it's lunch time?"

Tim frowned, trying to figure out what he was missing. 

Jon's face fell, "Ah sorry, I should have realised it wasn't - don’t worry about it."

Tim's mind clicked a second too late, and he stood up quickly, "The meditation, right?"

"Yes, but it appears you weren’t going to - "

"No no, it's fine, I just got distracted. Give me five minutes?"

Jon's face brightened, "Of course Tim."

He headed down to the storage room, and Tim sat down at his desk. Well, shit. He hadn't realised how much Jon had liked the meditation - well, _hypnosis_ sessions. And it wouldn't do well to just stop them, especially when Jon had initiated it on his own. They had agreed it was a good idea to reward any and all social interaction that Jon prompted himself. 

Tim grabbed out his phone and quickly scrolled through the notes he'd taken in preparation for last week - thank goodness he hadn’t deleted them. He'd done a decent amount of research into hypnosis and altered mental states, and he quickly found one of the hypnotic inductions he'd liked. 

While he could have re-used either of the previous relaxation methods, he was sure it wouldn’t be as effective the second time around. Tim did not have the time to figure out how he knew that. 

Tim made his way down into the storage room, taking deep and steady breaths on the way to centre himself. 

"Are Sasha and Martin not joining us?"

"They still haven't gotten back from checking out the house up in Dartford."

"Ah." Jon seemed unsure of how to proceed, looking around quickly, "Well, should we just not - "

"It's fine." Far be it for Tim to deny Jon this relaxation time, and they were already there, might as well do it. 'Encourage Jon initiating social interactions'.

Jon nodded and settled. 

"Alright, clap your hands together in front of you, but put down all your fingers except the middle ones." Tim demonstrated what he meant; his hands clasped together except for his middle fingers pointing upward. 

"Focus on the tips of your fingers. Take a deep breath in, and out. Ignore everything else except the sound of my voice, the rhythm of your breathing, and the tip of your fingers."

Tim reached out and put his own finger between Jon's, separating them without Jon having to tension the tendons. 

"Once I remove my finger, you are going to maintain that gap between the fingers. The separation of your fingers is tied to your conscious mind, as soon as those fingers meet, your conscious mind will fall away, and you will fall into a deep relaxation. The longer you can keep your fingers apart, the better that relaxation will feel."

Tim removed his finger and watched as Jon tried to keep his fingers separated.

"Focus on keeping them apart, the longer they are apart, the stronger your relaxation will be when you fall. As soon as your fingers touch, you will relax fully and completely."

Tim continued talking, while this task seemed deceptively easy, it was impossible to keep the fingers apart. The article he'd read had spoken about joined nerve groups and overstrained muscles, but the end result was that Jon would be unable to keep his fingers apart for more than a few minutes. 

Sure enough, Jon's fingers were almost touching, his eyes fully focussed on the point where they were about to meet. 

"They're so close Jon, and you know that you have tried for long enough, you have kept them apart long enough that you will fall into a deep and relaxing state of mind when they touch."

As Jon's fingers met, his whole body went limp. He dropped his hands into his lap, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he pitched forward, only saved from a collision with the concrete by Tim leaning forward to catch him. 

"Oops."

When Tim had been doing the previous sessions, he had been slowly bringing Jon down into relaxation and he could see when he had brought Jon deep enough and stop. Apparently, Jon could go deeper into a trance-like state, and Tim's rapider induction hadn't allowed Tim the opportunity to gauge when to stop.

Tim twisted Jon around, so they were sitting chest to back, Tim holding Jon up while Jon was seemingly trying to melt into the floor, head lolled back onto Tim's shoulder. 

"Jon, can you hear me?"

"Mmm." His was moan was both less than convincing, and made Tim shift uncomfortably. 

Get Jon talking. Yep. Distractions.

Tim remembered the lunch yesterday and realised that this would be the perfect time to ask Jon about what had happened.

"Jon, what happened at lunch yesterday?"

It took a few moments for him to speak, and when he did it was slurred and soft, like he was talking from a great distance. 

"Tim, Martin, Sasha and I went to Big Rico's, and we ate pizza."

"You basically didn't say anything the whole time. Why?"

Jon opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, eyelids flickering over the whites of his rolled-up eyes, "I didn't want to talk too much again. I overheard Sasha telling Rosie that I'd spoken about emulsifiers too much at Martin's party, and I didn't want that to happen again."

Tim sighed. Of course, and he'd been so worried about talking too much that he'd swung back the other way. Tim was glad that Jon had told him now, but wished it was something he would bring up at the time. Of course, Jon hadn't told the truth when they'd asked if there was something wrong, unfortunately he only really opened up when his conscious mind was asleep - 

Hmm. 

Tim had an idea. Part of him wished that Sasha and Martin were here to say no, most of him was glad they weren't. 

"Jon, I want you to listen very closely to what I am going to say. I am going to give you a few words that, when I say them, you will be triggered to perform an action. 

When I say to you 'Please Boss', you will find that you will have to do whatever follows or tell the truth to whatever question I ask. You will find this perfectly normal and reasonable to do, and you won’t find anything suspicious about doing so. Remember, this only happens when I, no one else, says 'Please Boss'. Do you understand?"

"Mmm. When'ver Tim says, 'please boss', I'll do whatever he says or tell the truth to whatever he asks."

"Good job Jon, you're doing so well. Remember that it won’t be odd or weird to follow this instruction, it's perfectly normal."

"P'rfectly normal."

"Alright Jon, feel the strength returning to your legs, we're going to move over to the cot now."

Tim half-carried Jon over to the bed and laid him down. 

"Feel yourself relax even further Jon, you've done well, and it’s time to rest. That trigger sits in the back of your mind, ready to go when I tell you, but otherwise invisible. Feel yourself relax into a deep sleep; your dreams filled with peace."

Tim was almost on the edge of his seat waiting for Jon to come upstairs after his 'nap', but Jon didn’t seem to have noticed anything was different. He smiled awkwardly at Tim, said a quiet 'thanks', and went into his office. 

Martin and Sasha eventually returned from Dartford, down one shoe and up two dozen picture books, and they convened in the break room as it neared five. 

"So, any ideas about how to get him to the bar Tim?"

At the mocking edge to Sasha's tone Tim leered forward with a grin and a wink, "Have a bit of faith, love, trust in the Timothy Stoker charm."

Martin and Sasha both laughed at that, "Yeah, that'll work Tim. Just don’t steal him away from Martin - ow!" Sasha yelped as Martin slapped her on the shoulder.

"Everything alright in here?"

Jon was standing at the doorway, empty mug in hand, and looking quizzically between the three of them. 

"Fine boss. Actually, we were just talking about heading down to the bar tonight. Wondering if you wanted to tag along? Get the whole crew down there?" Tim tried to balance the anticipation and hope in his voice with something more casual but wasn't sure exactly how successful he was when Jon shook his head. 

"Look, I'm sorry, I just really have a lot of work that needs to be done." Jon moved to put his mug in the dishwasher before heading back towards his office. "You all have fun though." he gave a small smile to them all he walked away.

"Please Boss, come with us to the bar."

If Tim hadn't been staring right at Jon, he doubt he would have noticed the change. Jon's eyes slid out of focus for a second before they snapped to meet Tim's. 

"Fine," he sighed, "I guess it wouldn't hurt. Let's go then."

Martin started, surprised, "Really? I mean, great!"

It took Jon a while to pack up his desk and resisted the urge to just 'ask' him to leave it. Jon obviously cared a lot about the state of his office, and it would be unkind to force him to leave his organising un-finished. 

They headed to the tube, and Tim convinced everyone to head to the Wetherspoons in Whitechapel, it was closer to his and Martin's apartments, and while Sasha lived down in Brixton, she'd probably just crash at Tim's place. Jon didn't comment on the tube ride over, so he must have been okay with it. 

They found a booth in the perfect spot, close enough to the bar to get drinks easily, within ogling distance of the dance floor, and far enough from the toilets to keep away from the smell of puke. 

With the conversation from earlier fresh in his mind, Tim wanted to do some careful question asking, but soon realised it would be impossible. 

With the bar beginning to liven up, it was almost impossible to hear each other talk. Hanging out together would be socialisation enough, and Jon didn't seem to unhappy squeezed in-between Martin and Sasha. 

"I'll get us some drinks. The usual?" Sasha and Martin nodded, "Jon, what do you want?"

"Ah, I'm fine with whatever."

Tim got up and had almost stepped away before he had a thought, "Please boss, what drink do you want, my treat."

Once again, Jon's gaze slipped away again, and he responded in an even tone, "Moscow mule. No lime, no ice, no straw, nothing extra." He blinked for a moment, "Ah, thanks Tim."

Tim grinned and grabbed their drinks from the bar. Score 1 for Timothy Stoker. 

A few hours later, everyone was pleasantly buzzed, even Jon seemed to be enjoying himself. He had the hint of a smile on his face, and was leaning slighting into Martin's shoulder, which Tim called a win. 

The bar was loud, but Tim regaled the group with stories about his last trip to Scotland, and the kayaking adventures therein.

After a while, Sasha and Martin stumbled to the bar to grab another round, and Tim looked around the bar. On any other night, he would be cruising someone nice to take back to his apartment, but tonight he was content with his workmates. Still, old habits die hard, and there was nothing wrong with looking. 

Speaking of workmates, Tim turned to Jon to see how he was doing, a witty comment about a cute young man in a cowboy hat on his tongue ready to go. 

'Not well' was apparently the answer. His face was pale, and he was trembling, the smile from earlier replaces with a look of fear. Tim felt like a bucket of ice had fallen on him, and he sobered up somewhat. 

"Jon?"

There was no response, and as Tim moved closer to get a better look at the other man, he realised with a start that Jon's eyes had the same dull green glow as when he'd recited the conversation between Elias and his husband (and that had been a piece of information that no one had wanted to dwell on. Elias, capable of love?). 

Jon didn't have the glowing eye in the middle of his forehead (yet), and Tim didn't want to wait around and see when it would appear. 

"Jon!" he said, a bit more forcefully this time. 

Jon's eyes flickered to meet Tim's, and Tim felt an unsettling weight settle on his mind, as if Jon was looking into his very soul.

"T-Tim?" he stammered out.

Tim realised abruptly that Jon was shaking in the booth, his arms clutched around his midsection as if he was trying to hug himself. Never mind whatever eldritch horror bullshit he was pulling; Tim wasn't going to leave him to struggle through it himself. Tim quickly slid into the booth and pressed up against Jon. 

"Are you okay?"

Jon let out a high-pitched whine and shook his head, "T-too m-much." He stammered out, and Tim saw tears gathering at Jon's eyes.

Shit shit shit. Tim looked around, the bar was absolutely packed, there was no way they were going to be able to get outside easily, or even to the toilets. Damn. 

Tim could feel Jon's shaking getting worse as he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them. He began to take short sharp breaths, hiccupping on the inhale and barely seeming to take time to exhale before he took another breath in. 

"Jon, I need you to copy my breaths. In, one - two - three - four." 

It didn’t seem like Jon could hear him, his whole body was shaking now, and tears flowed freely from his face as he rocked in the seat and hyperventilated. Damnit. 

One last thing to try, and then he was going to throw Jon over his shoulder and hit the fire alarm to get everyone out of the way. 

Tim grabbed Jon's clammy hand and put it on his chest, exaggerating his breathing so Jon could feel it. 

"Please boss, copy my breathing."

The response was instantaneous, Jon intense eyes slid out of focus and the green glow faded. He began to mimic Tim's inhalation and exhalation perfectly. 

"That's it Jon, good job. Listen to my voice, focus on your breathing, and let everything else fade away. The sounds of the people, the conversations, the bar, it doesn't matter, you don't need to hear it. All you need to hear is my voice. The smells of the cigarettes, the beer, the sweat, it doesn't matter, you don't need to smell it. The bright lights, the garish colours and flickering TV, it doesn't matter, you don't need to see it."

By this point, Jon's shaking had subsided, and he had slumped sideways into Tim's shoulder, gazing blankly up towards Tim while his hand still clutched at his shirt. 

Tim continued to talk to Jon, keeping him calm, relaxed, and not panicked. 

Eventually, Martin and Sasha returned with more beer, Martin sliding in next to Jon, and Sasha next to Tim. 

"Hope you boys had fun without us!" Sasha said, depositing her and Tim's beers on the table. 

Martin bumped shoulders with Jon, "Yeah don't tell me you just bored Tim to death!"

"Uh, no. Not quite." Tim said awkwardly. 

Through the fog of alcohol, Martin eventually processed what he was seeing, "Jon? Are you okay?"

Sasha leaned over and poked Jon in the shoulder, with no response. 

"Jon got a bit, overwhelmed? And I panicked."

"Tim! We agreed you weren't going to mess with Jon's head anymore!" Sasha said. 

"Well, I wasn't," Tim decided not to mention the session he'd had with Jon earlier in the day, "But he was hyperventilating and I couldn't get through the crowds..."

Sasha sighed, "Fair, fair."

"What do we do with him then?" Martin asked.

Tim chewed his lip absently. "Probably not a good idea to wake him up here, he'll just panic again I reckon."

Sasha nodded and stood up, "Let's carry him. If anyone asks, he's drunk."

Looking down at the vacant expression on Jon's face, Tim agreed that it would be easy to pass him off as having had a few too many. 

"Alright. Head back to mine then?"

Martin and Sasha nodded, and between the three of them they managed to clear a path to the door and support Jon on the way. 

The bouncer offered to call them a cab, but they declined. Tim's place was only five minutes down the road, and Tim muttered strength into Jon's legs once they'd left the bar, so he was mostly able to walk under his own power on the way there.

Tim simultaneously thanked and cursed his foresight to go to a bar near his apartment. It wouldn't take long to get there, but also, it wouldn't take long to get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a harder chapter to write because I needed to put actual like, stuff in. Instead of just rambling sequences of Jon being semi-unconsious while everyone looks on. 
> 
> And like, also because IRL has been ... well its been. 
> 
> Also! For those of you who read when i first posted, you would know that i initially tagged this fic as a lot darker. I have now realised that it is because i had two different fic ideas, one which is this happy 'Tim and co help Jon realise he is capable of friendship and love' and one which was 'Tim wants to play with Jon's mind in a non-consentual and mildly evil way'. So I will be writing the second fic when I finish this one. 
> 
> Also, next chapter is 99% written, and will be from Jon's POV. I just need to finalise it so it's less rambling and disconnected.


	4. The Eye's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon muses on the weird behaviour of his archival assistants as Tim starts doing meditation sessions. (Basically, snippits of Jon's POV for the first three chapters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim, during season 4 and 5: https://youtu.be/rT8fqB9GPBM?t=79

Being head archivist was downright stressful. 

When Elias had offered him the job, he had been excited - literally get paid to sort and organise? That was a dream. 

Unfortunately, the job was about much more than just sorting the archives: he had to lead the team of archival assistants, read statements, and be attacked by worms.

It wouldn't be that bad, except that his team of assistants were... Unhelpful. 

Tim started off with the good work ethic and investigation skills he had demonstrated in institute research, but he was always trying to suck up to him, which was ill-advised. Sasha was capable (and would probably have been a better head archivist, Jon thought dourly), and knowledgeable. 

Martin was either an idiot or had somehow stumbled into this job with no qualifications or prior experience. Given the integrity of the Magnus Institute and Elias' own skill, there was no way it could be the latter. Jon was trying not to be mean, but honestly, someone had to make sure that Martin was doing the correct thing. Otherwise Elias would fire him and ... Well, that was a thought better left untouched. 

Jon arrived outside the archive storage room at ten to one and hesitated. 

He had made a deliberate decision to distance himself from his assistants - partially to maintain professionality and partially because, well, what was the point in trying to make friends? It's not like it would actually work. No, better to remain distant. 

Then why was he here?

Jon deeply regretted letting Martin talk him into this stupid mediation session. Sitting around with the others, opening up and socialising, it would end badly. So badly. 

Jon sighed and rubbed his hands on the sides of his slacks. Up, down, up down. After a few minutes, his palms tingled with a brightness and he had calmed down. It had been a trick he'd learned after the third dislocated shoulder, something to calm and settle his nerves, and it got him less weird looks than rocking (howevermuch that was more comforting). 

Checking his watch, Jon realised it was just past one and he was late. 

What's the worst that could happen? Jon stepped inside and was greeted by Tim, Sasha, and Martin. 

They settled down onto the floor, and Tim began to talk.

The sensation was not unlike reading statements. When Jon would start recording, he would feel himself slip into the story, his own voice becoming the only thing he could focus on and his mind's eye playing out the events he described. It was peaceful. The content of the statements was usually anything but, and he usually felt a rush of adrenaline, fear, and helplessness as he came back to himself after the statement. 

Sitting in the archive's storage room and listening to the encouraging tone of Tim's instructions were just as calming, except it wasn't his own voice talking. He focussed on a point on the wall as Tim had instructed, and felt his body going limp and relaxed. Distantly, Jon could feel his hands in his lap and the cold of the cement under him, but they barely registered as sensation. 

From his feet moving upward, Jon felt everything become more and more removed from his perception, as if his body wasn't his, but that he was merely a passenger. 

It felt like a wave of detachment flowing up towards his mind, and when it reached his head, his mind floated away, untethered to his body. 

Jon wasn't sure exactly where his mind was floating to, but he decided it didn’t matter. Tim was in control, Tim had brought him here, everything was fine. 

A ringing echoed from somewhere far off, then stopped after a moment. Jon smothered his curiosity. Tim would take care of it. He had put Jon in this deep and calm and nice place, he would tell him when it was time to return to the cognisant. 

A thread of worry ran through Jon as he remembered that he was in the room with all his assistants, but it was quickly quashed by the relaxation he was experiencing. Everything was fine, everything was quiet, and Tim was in charge and he could just relax, floating. 

It was odd, the emptiness of the world seemed to sway for a moment, moving around and shifting in its darkness. Jon didn't worry about any of it. He could hear Tim talking to him, and if Tim was there, he was safe. 

Between one breath and the next, Tim's voice morphed into Georgie's, and Jon found himself his dorm room in Oxford. She was laughing as they ate dinner, and Jon felt a twinge of happiness in his chest. The darkness of their breakup hadn't happened yet, and Jon let himself settle into the camaraderie of one of his oldest (only) friends. Back before it had all gone to shit, back before Jon had given up on ever getting that kind of connection. 

Jon cursed himself that he had apparently fallen asleep during the meditation session, and thanked Tim as he went back to work. 

It was odd, he couldn’t remember much of what had happened, just a feeling of calm and contentment, and the knowledge that Tim was in charge and he didn’t have to worry. It was pleasant. 

So, a week later when Tim asked if he wanted to do another meditation session, Jon couldn’t say no. 

He ended up sitting across from Tim as they started, putting his glasses aside in case he fell asleep again. Jon debated whether he should have continued to wear them when Tim asked them to look into each other’s eyes, but it probably wouldn’t matter. 

Tim told him to look deep into his eyes, and Jon struggled to bring the hazel blur into focus, or was it green? Tim was telling him to look, look, look. 

Jon felt like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, leaning ever forward and almost-but-not-quite falling. Comfort, relaxation, a place to let the weight off his shoulders - it awaited him on the other side of that fall. 

In the end, the fall wasn't one of terminal velocity, but a gradual and graceful movement, akin to walking down stairs. He was ready to relax, ready to experience that peaceful detachment and separation. 

A warmth appeared at Jon's back, and he relaxed into its' comfort. As he laid back, it seemed like a sift, catching his body but allowing his mind to float into it and bask in the warmth. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of voices, and a green haze settled on his mind for a moment. 

But it didn't matter. 

He was safe in this warmth. Tim was looking after everything and he didn't have to worry that he was doing anything wrong. Tim was in charge. 

It was odd, Jon found himself sitting in the archives with Tim, Sasha, and Martin. They weren’t working, they were just sitting together. 

Martin was sitting at his desk and writing poetry in his book, and smiled at Jon. Tim was tilted back on his chair and throwing his pen in the air, and he winked at Jon. Sasha was typing on her computer, and glanced up to poke her tongue out at Jon. 

Jon felt a burst of warmth in his chest. 

When he woke up, he thanked Tim again and was surprised to realise that he was excited for next Friday. 

Unfortunately, his assistants decided this week was 'be weird to Jon' week. 

They kept asking him questions, asking him where he was going and what he got up to at home. Jon had learned many years ago that no one actually liked to listen to him talk about what he enjoyed, something that had been reinforced when he had shared his knowledge of emulsifiers at Martin's ice cream party and had later learned that he had info dumped. 

It was frustrating, at least in school the other kids would yell at him when he rambled about something too much. Adults just smiled and nodded and then whispered behind his back, making fun of him where he couldn't see.

When Tim invited Jon to pizza on Thursday, Jon swore he would be on his best behaviour. 

He twisted his fingers together under the table, focusing on the contortion and stretch of the skin to keep his mind grounded, but the others were not being helpful. As they had throughout the week, they kept asking questions!

Jon was familiar with the concept of small talk (it had patiently been explained to him by gran, and he had read several books on the subject), so he made sure to keep his responses brief. The looks on their faces told Jon that his responses were unsatisfactory, but he couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. 

Eventually, Jon couldn't take it anymore. He hadn't been able to enjoy his meal (pizza was an abomination, all the foods touched each other in an unpredictable manner), and he couldn't deal with that on top of the confusing signals he was receiving from his archival assistants. Jon excused himself and fled back to the archives. 

Jon hadn't slept well the night before, his dreams filled with the pleasant mediation memory of hanging with Tim, Sasha, and Martin, warring with the memory of their disappointed faces at lunch. Not for the first time, Jon cursed the lack of emoji's on real life faces. Would make it easier to figure out what people want. 

At least Sasha and Martin went to Dartford in the morning to do follow-up on a case, it was two less people to try and figure out. 

When lunch time rolled around, Jon waited expectantly at Tim's desk, and felt a crushing weight of disappointment when Tim seemed to have forgotten about the meditation. When he reassured Jon that he had just been distracted with work, Jon let his face widen into a smile. 

Jon felt weird to be happy that Sasha and Martin weren't there with them. It felt ... nice to have Tim's whole focus on him, but it also made him feel watched (well, more watched than usual). 

The worry melted away quickly though, as he tried to keep his fingers apart and focused on their tips. 

Where last week, Jon had felt like he was standing on the edge of a great height, ready to fall, this time he felt like he was standing at the bottom of the height, a dam wall creaking and groaning above him. The longer he stood there, trying to keep his fingers in focus, watching as they inexorably got closer together no matter how hard he tried to keep them separate, the more the wall groaned and creaked and filled with water. He could feel it, he knew that it was almost full to bursting, and Tim confirmed it just as the wall broke. 

The water flooded down over him, and Jon felt himself be washed away in its current. He was simultaneously weightless and held, comforted and alone. 

It was breathtaking. 

The peace was inescapable, and he basked in the distant rumbling of Tim's voice, words that twisted and swirled towards his mind and shone with a bright radiance. 

Eventually, the current deposited Jon on the banks, and he woke up in the archive storage. Jon felt great, and happily went back to work. 

He realised after a while that his teacup was empty (Martin was in Dartford. Maybe he was helpful?) and headed into the breakroom. 

He did not expect to see all the assistants crowded into the room, and thoughts of getting more tea disappeared in favour of getting out as quickly as possible. 

Tim asked Jon if he wanted to go to the bar, and Jon felt a wave of revulsion run through him. Bars were not nice places to be. Too loud, too smelly, too bright - too much. Georgie had found a nice bar up in Oxford that had been pretty good, it was subdued, and they cleaned everything very well, but Jon somehow doubted that Tim would be taking them to a quiet place. 

Jon smiled as he rejected the invitation, trying to soften the statement with claims of work and -

A wave of vertigo washed over Jon, as if everything had just shifted and reset. 

Well actually maybe it wouldn't hurt to go to the bar with them?

Jon agreed, and went back to his desk to pack up for the evening. All the papers needed to be put into the in tray so he could find them on Monday. All the pens put into the pen holder, and the pencils into the pencil holder and the unsightly red pens put away in the back of his drawer (he couldn't throw them away because Elias made him use red for commenting on the weekly reports). 

With a bit more work, Jon's desk was tidy, and he walked to the tube with the others. 

As they discussed which Wetherspoons to head to, Jon kept his mouth shut, not wanting to mention that it was the complete opposite direction to Knightsbridge. That's what the tube was for, surely they wouldn't be out past the last train. 

  
Jon was happy that Tim dragged them to a quiet-ish corner of the bar, and a booth that didn’t have too many odd stains on it. When he stood up to get a round of drinks, Jon didn’t want to be a nuisance, he'd just have whatever and pretend to drink it throughout the night - 

Tim's face faded out for a second, then faded back in. 

Jon felt himself asking for a Moscow mule (no lime, no ice, no straw, nothing extra). The words flowed from his mouth as easily as they had all those years ago in Oxford, when he would often otherwise get other annoying additions to his favoured drink if he didn't stop the bartender early. 

(and honestly, who wanted ice in their drink? It watered down the taste and made it disgusting. And lime was a terrible citrus fruit that should never have been domesticated, scurvy could kiss his ass.)

A few drinks later, Jon felt the beginnings of a smile on his face as he sipped at his mule. He was glad he had spoken up and told Tim what he had actually wanted to drink. The bar was getting into the full swing of things, but with the weight of Sasha on one side and Martin on the other, and Tim across from him telling some wild tale about a land kayaking, everything felt nice. 

He absently rubbed at his sternum, a warmth blossoming somewhere in his chest. Was he getting sick? Maybe it was just the drink settling into him, this was the first time he'd drunk since uni. Or perhaps it was the warmth from Sasha and Martin's bodies pressing in on him. 

Whenever Jon had an _episode_ as a child, Gran had always tucked him into bed with a heavy blanket that pushed him tightly into the bed. Looking back, she was probably just trying to restrain him so he stopped flapping and rocking, but it had always made him feel comfortable and held. It felt like the world going by didn't matter, because he was safe and secure. 

With how tightly they were packing into the corner booth at spoons, it was almost like laying in that bed. Warm, comforting, a decent chunk of pressure. What else could the aching warmth in Jon's chest be?

The thought of Georgie popped into his head just as Sasha waved her hands in front of Jon's face. 

"Jon! Hey, do you want another mule?"

"Hmm? Yeah?" Jon downed the last of his drink, and Sasha and Martin got up to get the next round. Jon scowled at the sudden loss of heat. 

It was as if the warmth and pressure had been holding the rest of the world at bay. Suddenly the sensations of a bar in the middle of London on a Friday night flooded Jon's mind. Bright lights from the dance floor incinerated his eyes, and the deep bass of the music rattled his bones. The smell of stale beer and acrid sweat flooded his nose, and Jon felt the blood drain from his face as he prepared to vomit. He looked around frantically, not sure if he wanted to find somewhere to throw up, pass out, or just sink into the overwhelming sensations and lose himself. 

And - and - 

Something else pushed at his mind, and he was too overwhelmed to stop it.

His eyes locked on a young woman in the bar -

Jessica Moran, 34 years old from Salisbury. Two years ago, she went walking through New Forest National Park with a few friends from uni. They'd found a cave, one that her best friend had sworn wasn't on the map. Jessica hadn't wanted to go in, but the others had all spoken about undiscovered ancient treasures and needing to 'live a little'. Jess spent three days in there, being crushed by the weight of the -

The crowd moved, and the images in Jon's mind shifted - 

Adrian Cohan, 23 years old from Lutwyche. Fourteen years ago, he had been walking home from school when something had stepped out of the bushes - 

Meredith Jones, 31 years old from Edinburgh. Six years ago, she was closing up the shop for the evening - 

Callan Galloway, 29 years old from London. Two years -

Alana Reed - 

Jon clutched as his stomach to try and steady himself, and a voice from far away called his name. Jon saw Tim framed on a background of nauseating fluorescence and bright sounds. 

"T-Tim?" 

Timothy Stoker, 26 years old from London. four years ago, his brother had - 

Jon pushed back, forcing himself to lift his gaze from the other man. It stopped, and he felt himself begin to shake, realising with a distant alarm that he couldn't stop. Everything was too bright, too loud, too strong, too intense, _too much_. The world was pressing in on Jon from all angles, and he could feel his mind begin to be swept away in the onslaught.

Warmth appeared at his side, Tim sliding into the booth next to him, and Jon could taste Tim's words as he said something.

"T-too m-much." Jon muttered back, unable to process the sounds tumbling from Tim's mouth. 

Jon could feel wetness on his face, and it was just another thing to add to the cacophony of sensation. The salty taste, the sensation of wetness on his dry face. He could feel every pore that the tears tracked over, every worm scar they travelled through. 

Pulling his knees to his chest, Jon began to rock himself slowly backwards and forwards, trying to get lost in the rhythmic motion, but it wasn't enough. His chest hurt, why did his chest hurt? The warmth was gone, and his chest ached as he tried to gulp in more air, never enough air. 

The rumble of Tim's voice echoed around Jon, but it drowned in the weight of everything else before he could process it. Darkness crept into the edges of Jon's vision, flaring the lights louder and the sounds brighter. 

Too much, too much. 

Jon's hand landed on something hard and steady, moving in and out in a regular rhythm. Air going in and out. This is what his breathing should be? He matched it, taking in deep and steady breaths. The darkness receded and the tightening in his chest relaxed a bit. 

Like a radio being tuned from a station to static, the world started to fade away. The music and people got quieter until they were a distant hum. Jon tuned his face into the warmth next to him, and inhaled lavender-scented washing powder. Finally, the lights of the bar darkened, as if at the end of a tunnel, and Jon felt his mind and body relax. Whatever was happening, wherever he was, he was safe and warm. The warmth that had blossomed in his chest earlier had returned; everything was fine. 

Jon let himself float on whatever peace had settled on him. He could feel the rumbling of speech from under his hand, but it washed over him in warm and calming waves. 

A push as his side, a touch on his shoulder - both gone in moments. 

He could feel movement, and the faded world seemed to shift. 

At some point, Jon felt the distant and odd sensation of his legs moving, but the comfortable floating kept him from questioning it. It was nice to just step back and allow someone else control. He couldn't make any mistakes, couldn't anger anyone or do the wrong thing or misread social cues if he didn't have to be in control.

He could just relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Jon is wrong, lime is one of the gifts of the gods and is fantastic with ginger ale (and, if you are over 18, vodka too)
> 
> Ice in drinks is actual an international crime though, that I stand by.
> 
> (and i have given up on consistent spacing between paragraphs apparently...)
> 
> (and and as someone who went to london once, 9 years ago, and has gone to a bar twice in his life, let me tell you about these two chapters set in english bars...)


End file.
